What on earth am I doing here?
by BasqueBlonde
Summary: What happens when a 17 years old frenchie wakes up in the bed of a complete stranger in what appears to be the 19th century? Read on to find out ;D WARNING :If you cannot stand violence/bareness/flirting/swearing in different languages, do not go further :P This is a black butler fanfic, rated T, taking place in AU. ENJOY THE STORY
1. Prologue

**_ This is going to be a Black butler fanfiction, based on the cultural difference a nowadays french girl and an 19th century lord, a.k.a Ciel Phantomhive. I hope I managed to make this funny, but just warning you, this chapter isn't that lovely. But no worries, it's all going to get better as we get into the core of the action ;D Enjoy your reading_**

**_WARNING! _**

**_A lot of frenchness is going to be present in this, so brace yourselves :P_**

**_I don't own the characters in black Butler, please don't sue me :D _**

**_Prologue _**

"NOOOO! I SWEAR I DIDN'T MEAN IT THAT WAY!"

"I DON'T CARE FRENCHIE, YOU ARE GOING DOWN!"

While running, which honestly wasn't easy, considering ballerinas weren't exactly made for this purpose, I quickly glance over my shoulder to see how close my pursuers were to me, sending my blonde hair in my face, which, to my great displeasure, sticks to my lip gloss, but that was the least of my problems. A bunch of British men are hot on my heels, waving their fists at me, not in the friendliest way ever. Oh shit. As the street is going slightly downhill, a lady with a child in her light blue pram exits her grey dull building. Looking forward to making the best out of this beautiful and sunny afternoon, she hums the tune of "Why can't we be friends" by Smash mouth, a happy grin on her pale face. I smile to myself when I recognize the song, then remember she was RIGHT in front of me, and hasn't seen me yet.

"PUTAIN*, WATCH OUT!" I scream as loud as my poor lungs allowed me to, the running taking up all the air it could. My eyes close themselves as my whole body braces itself for impact. Which never happened. I have strictly no idea of how I did it, but the second afterwards I end up on the other side of the pram, on my two feet. "Praise the lord and its athletics classes!" Are my first thoughts after realizing I am all in one bit, rapidly followed by an "Oh, wait, they are still after me aren't they?" and finally a "RUN YOU IDIOT", scolding myself for not having resumed running. My feet felt like they were both about to fall off from the impromptu chasing with the most uncomfortable shoes ever, but I gave them no choice and pushed myself forward. After a few meters, I could no longer hear the thick English accent in which my prosecutors have been insulting me in. My hair still stuck on my lips-note to self, get a new haircut as soon as possible, long hair may be pretty but extremely unpractical-, I analyze the surroundings to find a dark alley in which I could wait for my opponents to quit wishing my death. To the right. My feet react quicker than my brain, and before I know it, my back is against the dark green skip that reeks as if 20 cats had committed suicide in it. Closing my eyes, my yoga lessons coming back to me, I inhale through my nose what seems like 20 liters of foul air. Allow my brain to stop pounding against my head and giving my legs a break.

What a day it has been! Slowly and appreciating the rest I am taking, I exhale. My P.E teacher would be so proud of me, running a good kilometer and jumping over obstacles were always reasons why I ended up on the ground gasping for my breath. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I was fat or anything, it was just my lifestyle, which was a good 200 percent French, the fact that I had moved to London only reinforced my cultural identity, and my close friends were used to me slipping one or two French words once in a while. As my diet enables me to keep the same weight, sport only had little interest in my eyes. Except when it came to watching it, especially after class when the college seniors would come to train on our school's athletic field. Me and my friends would meet up there to enjoy the show, popcorn filling our mouth and admiration shining in our dilated eyes.

So, to sum up the reasons of this chase, I, as French as ever, happened to enter an English pub while talking to my friend on the phone about how British people were ridiculous-Aaaand the worst timing award is given to… Isabelle Desmoulins!-. A few heads turned around when I started to use words such as "Stuck up", "Black sheep of Europe", as well as "terrible cooks and drunk all of the time"-among others insanities-, glaring at me with deep hatred burning in their eyes. Being a French person, it was natural for me to have at least a little despise for these people, and soon enough, I realized it wasn't such a wise idea to share it into a public place like this. I came to this realization when the bartender, who looked mighty pissed that a random obnoxious Parisian came into his property to insult his people, shouted out "A FREE BEER FOR ANYONE WHO CHASES THE SNAIL EATER!".The whole crowd present in the pub turned to stare at me, as I shifted uncomfortably, and proposed in a trembling stuttering voice "G-God bless the Queen?".

A few seconds later, I was sprinting across one of the main avenues, causing at least half a drivers to hit their brakes and honk me as if the U.K had won the World Cup-which hadn't happened since 1966, another thing I could tease my fellow comrades about.

A few streets and close calls later, I ended up where I am now.

Daring to slowly open my hazels eyes again, I scan the nearby region to make sure I am a hundred percent safe. Apart from a pair of yellow orbs staring at me from under the skip, there is no sign of life around here. I sigh in relief. While getting up, I attempt to stop shaking, adrenaline still rushing through my veins. The tiny space that separating the two building where the skips are is filled up with puddles of an unknown dark red liquid, and which, for the sake of my mental sanity, remains unknown. My stomach almost empties itself of its contents when I glimpse at a putrefying finger, being gnawed by a rat. A REAL FINGER. Fear strikes me with its sly strength, as tears fall off my eyes and my respiration quickens even faster than when I was running. God. Where am I? I am starting to regret having ever come here. My vision starts to become blurry and my legs turn to cotton. I have to get out of here. Leaning against the wall constituted my only alternative to collapsing.

Then, the ambiance changed. The air became heavier, and with each minute that went by it was harder for me to breathe. Panic is present in every parcel of my organism. My eyelids become droopy, and I struggle to keep my eyes wide open as I spot a shadow moving in the corner of my vision. It appeared to suck in all the heat and sunlight, and as it came closer, I shudder. Each of my breath was a challenge, but I am determined to live. No random moving shadow is going to make me die today.

Probably victim of hallucinations, I hear the being hissing at me, his body-if we even call that a body- inches away from mine, shivering. "You look just like her…" A wave of disgust hits me as it touches my cheek with its slimy hand. My nostrils are full of its odor. It smelled like death. But no gory death. A clean, neat death, that probably took place in a hospital. The worst kind.

"N-No…." The words are formed on my lips, but no sound comes out as its hand moves to my mouth. Stupidly, I attempt to bite him, my old reflexes from the country side returning. It grunts, I swear this sounds weird, but for a moment, the shadow seemed to smirk.

Suddenly I stop breathing. No matter how much energy I spent trying to inhale, it fails. A heavy weight crushes me. My eyes close themselves. A certainty hit me: I am going to die here.

I don't want to die!

I don't want t-to…..

I don't….

I-I….

I….

…

"You'll be perfect for this role, ma jolie*."

_***dramatic music***_

PS: I know not everyone can read french here, so all the words with a * are going to be translated here, so you can understand :D

"PUTAIN" in this context, it's a swear word meaning Fuck.

"Ma jolie" My pretty, it sounds very stalkerish in french, I have no idea if it has the same effect in english

Hope you enjoyed this story! Don't hesitate to leave a review or a favorite, both are really appreciated! I'll try to keep this story going, I have an ass ton load of ideas trotting in my mind about the directions this may take :D


	2. Waking up and collateral damages

_** WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?**_

_**I know the first chapter wasn't related at all to the anime, but here we go, Ciel appears in the chapter! This one was more entertaining for me to write, I hope it will be as equally amusing for you to read!**_

_**WARNING!**_

_**I do not own Black Butler**_

_**A lot of frenchness ahead-includes knocking people out, waking up next to strangers naked, swearing and making a mess-**_

A reassuring feeling of warmth strokes my skin as I emerge into consciousness. I let go a sigh of relief when I figure out that I'm on a bed. And man, it's comfy. The delicate scent of chamomile tickles my nostrils, and, in an attempt to find a better sleeping position, I shift upwards, only to find a multitude of mellow pillows. By doing so, I realize that I am naked. Oh well. I don't really care right now. I've got warmth and a bed, and, judging by how much my whole body aches, a dozen hours of sleep to catch up on. A smile draws itself on my face. That was one hell of a good plan.

What happened must have only been a bad nightmare… I mean, shadows don't just randomly appear out of nowhere and suffocate random girls? Just the thought of the being makes me shiver and I quickly expel it out of my mind. Everything is perfect right now. Just move my right leg a little…

…

Merde*. My toes just touched someone else's leg. Well I hope that was a leg, I don't especially want to find out whether it was or not. Maybe that was just my mind hallucinating again. Oui, of course. This is just the rest of the dream where I was chased by overly patriotic English men, and ended up being flirted with in a dark alley with an extremely creepy unidentified being. I gulp, and open my eyes.

Noppidy nope, that wasn't a dream. A screech finds its way out of my throat.

A scream makes a startled Ciel jump out of his bed, face first on the floor. While he tries to get on his two feet, he scans the room, looking for the criminal who dared wake him up that early. The sun was up, but that didn't mean HE had to be up as well. Who was waking him up at this unholy hour? Whoever it was, they weren't going to survive for long.

His hands go through his messy black hair, giving his heart time to slow down. He hesitates on whether to call Sebastian or not, as he hadn't been there in the past few days. This thought only infuriates him even more. What the bloody hell was he doing? After a few seconds, his eyes adapted to the brightness of the bedroom. And they were really pleased with the view.

A waterfall of blonde hair surrounds her blushing face, and arrives to the middle of her back. She had the light green bed sheets wrapped around her, and she was clutching them against her chest. Ciel's gaze lingers a bit on her face. She seems familiar… But he composes himself and remembers he was furious a few seconds ago. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"He asks, trying to cover the sound of her voice.

His only answer is another round of shrieking. He face palms and searches his memory to find out why there was a woman in his bed. For god's sake, he is engaged; it wasn't suitable for him to have an affair, moreover, an affair he wasn't even aware to have. Now he didn't even make sense. He needs a cup of tea to make some sense out of this. IF ONLY THIS WOMAN COULD STOP SCREAMING!

By a miracle, the woman seems to have heard his mental pleas and stopped screaming. Little did he know it was for the worst.

When I finally manage to catch my breath, I readjust the covers on my breasts and put my hands on my hips. I can't help but smile a bit seeing the mess I have made. The man who was in my bed-actually, it was more like his, but whatever- lies, unconscious, on the floor, surrounded by remains of vases and items of clothing. In my panic, I had thrown anything in my range to his face. But having very little aim skills, I hit anything but him. When he thought he had won, and a triumphant smirk dominated his face. Except that I took a lamp and smacked his head with it, knocking him out. I feel pretty proud of myself, I didn't know I had that in me. Delighted, I make a little victory dance, a personal mix of the Macarena, the ula and the cancan.

Then the gravity of the situation hits me. I have no idea of my current location."Bordel de merde*, pourquoi est ce que ces trucs m'arrivent tout le temps*?" mumbling to myself, I look around for clothes. A wardrobe attracts my attention, and a minute later, I find myself dressed with an oversized shirt, which arrived to my knees. "This should do" I quietly state, while trying to tuck back the sheets on the king sized bed. It looked like a couple of boars had made babies in it, but it was good enough.

Then I notice something. The. Bed. Has. Curtains. Light Green, matching the bed covers. How fucking awesome is that? It's so fancy! I didn't know people still made these nowadays! While I reflect on the countless number of possibilities that the princess bed-as I nicknamed it-, I go check on the guy, still lying on the floor.

He is kind of cute, with his black hair all around his face. His cheeks are still red, I don't think he is really used to wake up with random women in the same bed as him. Kneeling next to him, my hand brushes the hair away from the zone of his skull that I hit earlier. His hair really is as soft as it looks, I say myself with half a smile. Aie*. Looks like I really did a lot of damage. A guilty feeling sets his claws in my stomach. Was I really right to knock him out like that? Eh bien*, we can really do anything about it anymore right? I attempt to lift him up. He is probably much heavier and taller than me. My arms cannot even pull him off the ground, no matter how hard I try and the number of positions I take. After 10 minutes of intense fighting with the unconscious corpse, I give up and push him against the wall. "Voila*" I proudly announce in French.

Wondering where my personal clothing, I decide to search the room to find my clothing and my personal belongings. Especially my phone. There's no way I'm going to ever find my way out without my phone.

_**French translation :**_

_***Merde=Shit**_

_**For those of you who don't know what cancan is, here is a video : watch?v=T59EDTqqW0A**_

_***Bordel de merde= Something along the lines of "Bloody hell"**_

_***Pourquoi est ce que ces trucs m'arrivent tout le temps?=Why do these things keep on happening to me? (sarcasm)**_

_***Voila=Here you go **_

_**Hope you enjoyed the second chapter! There is more to come, but that will be in a while, when I'll have time again. Well, at least now, you know how to swear in french, so you sound graceful and insulting at the same time :D I would love a review to let me know if I should keep going with this story :D**_


	3. Explosions and suffocation

_**Leave the cooking to the French**_

_**I'm back, and this chapter is a lot longer than the two others, so I hope I didnt make you wait for too long. Just warning you, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, so brace yourselves for more Isabelle! **_

_**Disclaimer : I do not own black butler, and none of the characters**_

_**Watch out for the dynamite explosions and the accidental suffocation present in this chapter :D Enjoy **_

Half an hour and a lot of frustration later, I give up searching for my goddamn phone. I let myself fall on the princess bed, breathing in the sweet scent of chamomile the bed sheets are impregnated with. What did I get myself into? My clothes seem to have magically disappeared, a guy knocked out by my services lies against the wall, my phone is nowhere to be found, and BON SANG J'AI FAIM!* Hunger made its undesired apparition between my bruised ribs, and I found myself craving for anything eatable. 

**_Screw this place, I'm getting food_**

The corridor outside the bedroom looked surprisingly empty and unwelcoming. My grandma always used to say that the way a house is decorated reflects the personality of the owner. Bordel*, the owner of this place must be boring as hell. I wonder who it is though. It can't be the boy I knocked out, he looked way too young. And besides, this manor must have a family living in it, and the guy back in the room blushed like crazy at the only idea of having a woman in his bed. 

I think, as I walk along the stern corridor, looking around for the kitchen. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I realize I have a faint smile on my face when the blue eyed dude I have knocked out crosses my thoughts. "Ne me dis pas que je commence a avoir le syndrome de Stockholm*" I reprimand myself. "You don't even know where you are, maybe you got abducted, and all you can think of is that guy?" 

Lost in my thoughts, I have a heart attack when the door to my left bursts and goes slam the wall, a guy sent with it. I rush towards the guy covered in ashes and residues. That must have hurt. "Are you okay?" I ask him, checking for any wounds. 

"Bloody hell, I think I was a bit too heavy with the dynamite this time" he states, ignoring me, and trying to get back up. Then noticing my presence, he glances at me. From the look on his face, it wasn't everyday he saw half naked ladies walking around the house. I can't help but giggle a little. 

"What exactly were you trying to do back there?" I inquire, curious while pulling the shirt down to hide my knees, as it clearly makes him uncomfortable. 

"I…I…" he stutters, still disoriented, then continues with a more assured voice "I was cooking breakfast for our young master. I was having difficulties with the dosing." 

"Then it is my duty to help you! Cooking is in my veins, I'm French" I reply, delighted at the thought of filling my stomach with proper food. 

"French?!" He looks me up and down, then adds "Explains the clothing" 

I glare at him while making an offended pout. "I doubt your 'young master' is going to want burned food." I offer him a hand to stand up, and he gladly accepts it. 

"Touché, my young lady, touché." While wiping the dirt off him, he considers my naked legs. "Put something on though, I don't want to be distracted while dealing with explosives." He teases, half serious half joking. My cheeks are flushed with heat, and I look away, embarrassed to have been spot without pants on. 

"Just give me a pair of pants and we'll get to work." Another shocked look. "What is it?!" 

"A lady should not wear pants…" he starts, only to be interrupted by an impatient French blonde. 

"I. Am. Not. A. Lady." I respond, marking a pause between every single word to make sure he understands. No, but seriously, ladies are to me those handicapped persons who can't live without rib shattering dresses and servants helping them dress and undress. I am definitely not one of them. "Unless you want me to be running around dressed like this, then just get me what I want." I threaten. I know I shouldn't have talked to him like this, but the hunger gnawing at my stomach is fighting against my reason. And besides, he might be the only guy who has ever wanted me to show less skin. Maybe he's just not used to girls showing skin. But then again, nowadays, you can't go down a street without seeing a mini skirt or two, especially here, in London. Pour l'amour de Dieu*, we are in the 21rst century, not in the 19th, where guys would faint if a lady flashed an ankle. 

The cook comes back quickly with an apron covered in charcoal, and a pair of loose pants, a little burned on the ends. He hands them over to me, then, after having received the confirmation that I was satisfied with what he had brought me, he turns around, waiting for me to change. I refrain my laughter, and while slipping on the clothing, I notice that only his front is black with ashes, his back showing the natural colors of his clothing. 

"I'm ready, let's get on with it!" I happily announce a big smile on my face. 

"Yup, much better" He assesses, examining my clothes. He then holds a ghost door and waits for me to get it. I giggle a bit at the gesture, then lifting the corners of an imaginary dress, I walk into the kitchen in a fabulous manner. 

Well, to say the least, this is one heck of a dirty kitchen. Not having any ingredients in sight, I turn to the man, raising a quizzical eyebrow. He catches my look and rushes through the kitchen, throwing to me all the materials. Buried under the load of food, I manage to get out my head. "Hey, buddy, I think we've got everything we need" 

He turns around and laughs at my sight. He drags me out of the pile, and I sigh, relieved. I thank him with a smile, and then ask:"Wanna make pancakes?" 

"Yes, my lady", he teases with a smirk, causing me to slap him on the back of his head. 

(_**Time skip)**_

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOOL? DON'T PUT DYNAMITE IN THERE!" I scream, diving to catch the red sticks. He dodges me, and sets fire to the sticks. I curl myself up in a ball, bracing for impact. 

A loud explosion shakes the whole house, and residues burst every single window on the first floor. 

My eye lids flutter open. My whole body feels numb, and the only sound arriving in my ears is a continuous bell ring. Am… Am I alive? An odor of burnt and blood overwhelms my nose, and I cough. A few moments pass by, and I can start to feel my body again. For the worst, as it starts aching as soon as it, and I regret the blessed seconds of numbness. 

"Du...Dude, are you okay?" the words come out of my mouth painfully, and my throat is dry. Pain shoots through my body as I try to get up. A heavy weight is pinning me to the ground. "Putain de bordel de merde*" I swear under my breath. My lungs feel like they're on fire, and I soon resume coughing. 

The body, which is still squishing me, starts to cough as well. He rolls on his side, his eyes up on the ceiling. He knows what I'm about to say and states instead: "Not such a good idea, eh?" starting to laugh nervously. 

"Understatement of the day", I replied, starting to laugh. This was the kind of situation where you either cry or laugh, and even though it hurts my lungs, I'd rather laugh right now. I weakly punch him in the shoulder, and he joins me in my genuine laughter. 

After a while, my laughter dies out. His does too, and following a few minutes, he says, "Name's Baldroy", while staring at the ceiling, which was starting to fall apart. 

"Mine is Isabelle. But call me Isa" I reply, propping myself on my elbows, looking at Baldroy. He looked as damaged as me. 

"Now we shall cook a proper breakfast according to MY methods, I don't think whoever the owner of this place likes us tearing it apart with explosions" I continue, repressing a smile when mentioning the explosives. Using a nearby shelf, I pull myself up and lean on it. 

"Yes Ma'am." He answers, a faint smile on his face. He gets himself on his two feet with no difficulty, and runs out of the kitchen. Probably to the cellar. But seriously, what is that man made of? He just survived two dynamite blasts, while I barely made it out of one, and now he is running! My lungs feel like some kind of white incandescent liquid had been poured in them. The smoke. It must be what is paining me so much. I spot a window, blown off by the explosion. I stagger, leaning on whatever was near that could keep me from falling. Using whatever energy was left in me, I climb on the counter below the window and throw half of my body outside, breathing in as much fresh air as I can. 

When my head stops spinning and my lungs work properly, I admire the scenery. Judging by the size of the building, I am currently in a manor. Meaning that if I got abducted, it was probably by an old aristocratic pervert who likes to lick young girl's feet. Great, that never happened to me before. 

The manor's front yard looks like it has been kept clean, even though it seems the gardener's only tool was a chainsaw. A path of pebbles, starting at the very entrance of the house, is the only straight thing in this uneven garden. About 200 meters from the entrance, it splits a forest in two, only to be shadowed by the giant slender trees. Right now, this is my only way out. I could make a run for it, but my body still aches, and my stomach's gnawing has only been made worse by the kitchen incident. 

Staring out into space, thinking about how long I will have to stay here, I do not notice the maniac skipping around trimming the bushes. I only do when he is two meters away, and that he is running towards me. Oh man, why? I wiggle my body in order to get it out of the window, but it's too late. The blonde individual drops his chainsaw and grabs my wrists. 

"NOOOOOOOON*" I protest, trying to free myself from his hands, which have a surprisingly strong grip. He pulls me outside anyways, and I groan when my poor body impacts the ground. An optimistic version of me would think this torture is over, but no. He squeezes me, and all the air is expulsed out of my lungs. Suffocating, I manage to articulate. 

"You're crushing me" at this point my words are no more than a wheeze, but thank god the figure hears me and let go. I drop to the earth again, but this time around, only my bottom hits it, so the rest of me don't hurt as much. 

"What was that?" I scowl, as soon as my breaths start to adopt a normal rhythm again. I'd be lucky if none of my ribs were broken. Glaring at him, my hands run along my sides to check for any damage. I'm in one bit, but not thanks to him. 

"Sorry, my beautiful lady, I was just so happy we had a female visitor! Since Miss Elizabeth is on a trip to France, we barely have any ladies coming here", he explains, as I try to get up. Unfortunately, my legs fail me, and I fall again. I close my eyes and prepare myself for the collision. It never happens, and when I dare to open them, I realize the stranger is carrying me bridal style. 

"Why did you try to break my ribs though?" Wondering what his excuse was for crushing me. He was happy to see a visitor, okay, but that does NOT mean he has to squeeze the life out of them! 

"I do not always control my strength, and I did not mean to hurt you" he apologizes, checking my body for any injuries. Then he sees my pants, and bursts out" Why are you wearing pants? It is not appro…" 

That question again. Damn it. I interrupt him in the middle of his sentence and snap "Would you rather have me running around naked?" To my surprise, he blushes, and looks away in embarrassment. While stuttering, he starts walking towards the entrance of the house. "N-No, it's f-fine" 

Deciding that the boy was not lying and had no death intention at the moment, I try to reassure him, as he seems really nervous. "What is your name?" I ask, genuinely curious. 

"Finnian, but I like Finny better" he replies, climbing the stairs. Is he a she? He has hairclips in his blonde hair, and talks with a rather high pitched voice, so it would make sense. Wait, no. If he was a girl, he wouldn't have blushed to my earlier suggestion. Nope, he is definitively a guy. Why is he so stiff though? He wasn't like that earlier. Maybe it has to do with the fact that my head is resting on his chest, however it's normal for someone who had been in an explosion and was almost suffocated to feel a little tired. 

"W-What's yours?" He hesitantly wonders, red tainting his cheeks. His heartbeat is abnormally fast. I feel like putting him out of his misery, but I don't understand why he is acting like that. 

"Call me Isa." I reply, a small smile on my face, hoping it would calm him down. He doesn't notice, as he is too busy bursting the front door open with his left foot. "You know, you can also knock" I sarcastically comment. He lets out a small laugh, but suddenly clutches me closer as steps come closer. 

"Who is that? Where the hell does she come from?" A hysterical feminine voice resounds in my ears. FINALLY! Another woman in this asylum! Sighing in relief, I whisper to Finnian:"What's going on?" 

His eyes meet mine for a second, and then he looks at the woman again. I cannot see her, because my face is right against the blonde's chest. "It's only May Linn, don't worry" he answers. I am worried though. Is she going to be like me, a normal person? Or just another eccentric person who is going to try to kill me? 

Oh well, it seems I am bound to get in trouble in this house. My eyelids shut themselves, and for a few seconds, I try to fight against the sleepiness caused by the pain throbbing in my body. It seems that my body has more common sense than I do. Against my will, I soon drift off to sleep, with the regular but quick heartbeat of Finny, a sweet rhythm to fall asleep to. 

_** End of the chapter**_

Non is no in French

_**Bon sang j'ai faim:**_ I am so bloody hungry!

_**Bordel**_= God dammit

_**Pour l'amour de Dieu**_=For the love of god

_**Ne me dis pas que je commence a avoir le syndrome de Stockholm**_= Don't tell me I am starting to have Stockholm's syndrome.

_***Putain de bordel de merde**_ = something along the lines of goddammit, shit and fuck together: D Lovely right?

Hey! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As you can see, Isabelle is already wounded! Sorry if there was not enough Ciel in this chapter, he'll be more present in the future. Dont forget to leave a favorite and follow :D


	4. Get out of my dream, creep

_** You again?!**_

_**Hello ^^ I'm back with another chapter! In this one, you will learn more about Isabelle herself, her fear and that goddamn shadow who creeped up on her in the prologue. We will also learn her purpose in the Phantomhive house, and who sent her there.**_

_**I do not own Black butler or any of its character. I am only responsible for Isa and Chris so far ;D**_

_**Warning : **_

_**Heavy flirting with supernatural creatures, Random tattoos made without consent, and allot of french swearing and an awesome grandma ahead :D Enjoy ;)**_

Bordel*. Is this Aprils fools or something? Last time I checked, I was in Finny's strong arms, busy drifting off to sleep while some hysterical maniac was questioning my identity and presence in the mansion. Enough with the change of location! I just wan

Unless this is a dream. Yes. It cannot be otherwise. I haven't visited my grandma's house since I was ten, and here I am, standing right outside of it.

Everything seems so familiar here…the sweet perfume of the sunflowers dancing in the cool béarnaise breeze, the scarce pine trees around the house, inhabited by melodious birds and owls, the voices of my cousins playing in the wooden pool in the backyard, all of it slaps me in the face. My heart fills with happiness, and I'm about to take off to celebrate with my cousins when a thought crosses my mind.

I look down at my body. Thank god I am dressed this time .A vibrant blue strapless dress flows over my body, stopping halfway of my thighs, and sandals protect my feet from the needles the humus was mainly constituted of. I sigh, relieved. Maybe no one is going to try to kill me here. Yay.

Half walking half skipping, I move forward, reaching for the green front door. A huge grin draws itself on my lips, while I think about what my dear grandma would say when she sees my outfit. Probably something of the kind:"Isa, t'as l'air d'une trainee! Vas me mettre un pull!*", while judging me with her trained eyes, which could detect anyone flashing a bit too much skin within a good hundred meters. God, I missed her.

My hand slowly turns the handle, as stealthily as possible, because I want to surprise her. In fact, it has been a contest between us, and whoever would scare the other the most got to have the other as a personal slave for the day. Needless to say that I was a lot under her commands. I step back, then lifting my right foot upwards, I push the door with a triumphant war cry.

Damn it. She didn't even flinch. She is just standing there, cleaning the dishes, her back facing me. Her small chubby body still looks the same as it did seven years ago. I step towards her, until my chin finds her left shoulder and rests on it. "Salut grand mere" I happily say.

Wait. Something is off. She doesn't smell right. Her scent is usually a mix of lavender and tobacco-My grandpa used to smoke-. The only thing my nostrils detect is a sickening odor of hospital, the thing I hate the most in this universe. I have lost so many people there. Just the smell reminds me of the hours spent on the benches in the waiting room, sobbing, and with each minute passing, part of your hope disappearing forever. And when the surgeons finally show up, the desperation my whole being was filled up with. It would take days to wear off. But the grief would never go. Before my grandpa passed away, I would have never suspected so much can be done with only three words. He. Is. Dead.

I shiver, and push the thought out of my mind. I'm at my grandma's, all I'm supposed to feel is intense joy from seeing my relatives. My eyes glance at her face. Only to find the Shadow. My instincts tell me to get away from this thing as fast as I can, but terror paralyzes me.

"Don't be scared honey" it pronounces with her voice. If she knew how to speak English that is most likely what she would sound like.

"W-who are you?" I manage to articulate. Seriously, if that creature keeps on showing up in my life, I want to know what the hell it is.

"Take a seat" is all it replies, while gently pushing me towards a wooden chair. "I'll explain everything to you once I'm out of this." It continues, heading off into a different room, leaving me to complete panic. What does it want from me? Why does it keep on following me? I inhale, slowly, closing my eyes. This is only a dream, nothing bad can happen here. That still doesn't reassure me at all.

Exhaling, I open my eyes, only to find the being sitting in front of me. It is no longer a shadow. It is a very handsome man, tanned, with hazel eyes, just like mine. He is wearing a dark blue tuxedo, and I cannot help but noticing how much he looks like Barney from How I met your mother. Smirking and feeling a little more comfortable, I let my French instincts take over.

"Why did you hide that handsome face of yours under that creepy shadow this whole time?" I wonder, winking at him, but then realize that he probably changed appearance to make me feel less terrified. Good tactic, I admit. And I also bet that he knew that I was French, and what that implied.

"Last time we met, anybody could see us. And my identity is something I want to keep secret." Shifting a bit closer to me, he stares into my eyes, and adds, "But now I am in your mind, I can reveal myself."

"Good thing. I didn't like the flirting in the alley last time. Perhaps, if it have been a more romantic place…" I start, blushing a bit when he stresses the word "reveal", and holding his glare.

"The "flirting in the alley" as you call it, was just me sending you back in time in a specific location. I am sorry it happened this way, but you were the best associate I had found in a long time." He interrupts me, putting a finger to my lips. He moves in closer, and his words are just a whisper in my ear. His close presence brings back the memory of the alley, which sends shudders all over my body. But the last part of his sentence ticks me off.

"Wait, you mean you were the ONE who sent me into this asylum? Only to wake up next to a stranger, to almost die from a dynamite blast and having been suffocated?" I reproach, thinking about all the pain I'm going to go through once I wake up. Man I don't want to wake up.

"Shhhh…Not so loud." The hissing in my ear shuts me up in a fraction of a second. It's scarier to whisper than to yell at someone. My guts tell me to get the hell away from that man, but I can't. His body is inches away from mine, and any attempt at escaping would be useless.

"I have a purpose for you. To get back at an old friend of mine who stole one of the best opportunity in my long life…" he continues, his smooth voice going a little rough when mentioning his "friend". So he is using me. Great. Using my inner strength, I gather all of my confidence and reply:

"What if I don't want to help you?"

"You don't have a choice, ma belle*. You are my pawn in my chess game, and you are going to take the queen." Even if I don't see him, I know he smirked. I am crap at that damn game! And besides, a pawn doesn't have a will of its own. It follows the commands of the king. The last thing I want to do is being given orders by a king, as handsome as he may be. But I do not own the luxury of choosing these days apparently. Cooperating and betraying him the first chance I get seems like the best option, by far, as it doesn't involve me getting killed or having to knock out strangers I wake up next to. Even though I enjoy the latter, because then I get to do my little victory dance afterwards.

"Alors, we are associates? I am not working with someone whose name I don't know." I affirm, and leaning backwards, I grab his collar, and look into his eyes. No, but seriously, isn't that part of any ethical contract? He seems pleased with my cockiness.

"Just call me Chris." He replies, not backing off. Does he sense my fear? Because right now, I think I'm near a zero on the fear o meter, zero being the worst, of course. But then, he sits back up, straight on the wood chair, and offers his hand for a handshake. Really? Handshake? I mean, he's been heavily flirting/threatening me during five minutes, and all I get to seal a deal with that supernatural creature is a handshake? He must have noticed the disappointed look on my face, and laughs a little.

"Yes, I am old school." He affirms. Reluctantly, I grab his hand and awkwardly shake it as he squeezes my hand. A spot on my left shoulder suddenly decided it would be mean to me, and starts to hurt as if a knife was going through it.

"What the hell was that, Chris?" I almost throw my head over my shoulder in order to check out the wound. A symbol, the size of a hand, was now print on my skin, incandescent. Last time I had seen this type of mark, I was eight, and it was because my grandpa-Paix a son ame*- was marking his cattle so it wouldn't get stolen.

"You wanted something mystical? Here you go" He replies, a smirk on his face. "This is the seal of our pact. You belong to me." That thought repulses me. I don't want to belong to anyone but myself. I am not an object. But I keep my mouth shut; Chris had proven his power over me in the past.

"What now?"

"I am going to send you back to the mansion. You'll receive further instructions once you're there." He affirms, and accompanying the words by the actions, he takes my hand and kisses it. The gesture makes me blush. His head still hovering over my hand, he looks up to me.

"I shall see you again soon enough" I don't hear the end of the last word, because black has veiled my vision and my blood feels like it's been changed to lead, driving me to be unconscious once again.

_** End of the chapter**_

_***Bordel= goddamn it**_

_**Isa, t'as l'air d'une trainee: Isa, you look like a slut**_

_**Vas me mettre un pull: Go put a sweater on.**_

_**grand mere= Grand mother -But im sure you already figured that one out xP-**_

_**Ma belle= My pretty -stalkeriness is back from prologue-**_

_**For all of you out there who are not pleased about the absence of Baldroy, Finny, may Linn or Ciel, they shall come back next chapter, with Ciel angrier than ever. This chapter was necessary in order for me to make sense out of this story. Sorry if it bore some of you guys :/ Anyway, the next one should be up in 5 days or so. Hope you enjoyed the reading, and don't forget to leave a favorite/following :D**_


	5. Pancakes and Yoga

**_Ain't nothing like solving arguments with pancakes_**

_**Hello :D I'm back with a longer chapter**_, _**with allot of Ciel in it, however not as much as I'd like it to be. Enjoy ;)**_

_**Warning :**_

_**-I do not own Black butler or own of its characters, only Isa and chris are mine.**_

_**-Mentally prepare yourself for arguing, suggestive stretching, Spartan pancakes and allot of sarcasm. Also, at the end of this chapter, you can catch a glimpse of Sebastian :) Enjoy :)**_

"NO WAY! SHE IS NOT STAYING HERE!" The high pitched screech resounds in my ear, half waking me from my unpleasant dream. The warmth I fell asleep to is still surrounding me, so Finny must have kept me in his arms. My assumption is confirmed when a regular thud rings in my ear, but it is slower, so he must have sat down somewhere-Thanks Bio classes for finally teaching me something useful-. My cheeks feel hot when I realize my hands are gripping his shirt. But you know what? My position is way too comfortable right now, so I won't budge unless I have to.

"But look at her! She's wounded! And it's my fault!" a deep voice disagrees, and quickly, Finny's recognizable voice adds:" We can't just kick her out! She's adorable!" That comment makes me blush. I've been called hot and sexy, but not adorable. That's a new one; nonetheless, it has a really pleasing tone to my ear. I could get used to that, I thought with a small smile on my face.

And then my stomach resumes growling. The whole room falls silent, and even though I cannot see, I am pretty sure they are staring at me right now. The hunger devouring my insides brings me a new energy. My eyelids flutter for a few seconds, trying to bat the blur away. When my vision is clear, the first thing I see is Finnian's face tilted towards me, a mix of surprise and affection on it. He probably didn't suspect me to be able to produce anything sounding like what he heard.

"What? You've never seen a hungry girl?" I ask, playfully, stretching my hands forward in order to stand up. Putain*. My little nap has not made the pain in my muscles disappear. I groan as I stand up, and start stretching in front of four shocked persons whose brains have difficulty processing the fact that I am wide awake. I scan the room, only to find the cute guy I had knocked out earlier, Baldroy and Finny, as well as the hysterical May Linn, who seems to share my affection for screaming. May Linn and Eye Patch sit in different armchairs, while Baldroy and his companion are half sitting half lying on a couch opposite them.

The youngest looking one, after a minute of having his mouth wide open at how talented I was at switching from coma to awake and kicking in less than a minute, manages to shut his mouth, adjusting his tie, his gaze falling to the ground for a second. Did I just make him blush? Perhaps the fact that I am doing the splits right now has something to do with it. When I did it back in my times, in my yoga classes, no one would stare-Okay, if someone did it wrong or somehow ended up with their heads between their legs, we would stare, but only for entertainment purposes-, so I do not comprehend his reaction. It's just stretching dude, get your shit together.

About to speak, he looks back up to me. But I am busy analyzing the arrangement in this room, trying to figure out where I could do the cobra, as it requires allot of space, which doesn't seem to be too available in this tiny tea saloon. I interrupt him when his lips form the first syllable, wondering:" Can I move this table? I kinda have to stretch, and it would be much better if I could relocate it for the moment."

"Sure, I don't see why not." Is all he replies, and immediately, the table is tossed to the other side of the room. Lying down where the table was, my arms lift my torso up, while the rest of my body sticks to the ground. Moving my back closer to the ground, I attempt to pop the bubbles in my back bone. Tilting my face up to address the guy, I wonder while lifting an eyebrow quizzically: "Were you talking about me earlier? What was it about?"

His face bright red, visibly uncomfortable, he stutters: "I-Indeed, w-we were talking about you before you woke up." Pausing momentarily, looking around to his companions, probably mentally begging for some help, he continues after receiving no help: "W-we were wondering i-If you should stay here… Because, as a matter of fact, you already knocked me out, contributed to the destruction of our kitchen and wandered around the place half naked..."

"So what? That sounds like a normal sleepover to me." I tease, thinking about his reaction when he saw me naked. My spine finally lets out a crack, relief spreading along my relaxed back. He obviously didn't get my second degree and now looks appalled. Et merde*, another person who doesn't get my sarcasm. Today is going to be a long day. "Just kidding" I add as an apology, and his face goes back to its usual mask of severity.

My whole body relieved of all tension, I sit down in front of him, my legs crossed in front of me, observing him. He didn't have an eye patch when he woke up this morning. His other eye looked perfectly fine to me, so why was he wearing one? Thoughtful, I listen to him when he starts speaking, his bright red face expressing the fact that French girls practicing their yoga in front of him might not be part of his daily routine.

"You don't have any idea of why you are here, do you? "his question is directed at me, and when I look around for Baldroy and Finny to help me answer, they are gone. Bande de laches*. It's only me and him in the exiguous room. He invites me to take a seat next to him by a gesture. I do, and while I'm getting comfy into the armchair May Linn was sitting in right before she left, I feel his eye analyzing me. When my ass has wiggled enough for it to be comfy in the chair, I turn my body to face him.

"No, indeed." I replied, staring in his only visible eye, trying to guess what emotions were going through him. Was he still embarrassed? He sighs and pinches the bridge of his cute nose. "Do you?" I ask, silently hoping he does know anything about me. After all, it was in his bed that I had awoken this morning. Closing his eye, he appears to be thinking this whole situation through, letting me know the answer is quite clearly a no. A burn between my ribs reminds me that my stomach is desperately empty.

"Okay, I'm going to let you think in peace, I'm going to go grab something to eat." Standing up, I hurry towards the door and before opening it, turn my head around, sending my blonde hair in my face-Oh mon dieu, hair, I missed you getting in my way!- and add :"By the way. My name is Isabelle, but call me Isa. I thought you should know the name of the stranger who woke up next to you this morning". I'm halfway through the door when I hear his masculine voice reply: "Call me Ciel", mimicking my accent.

**_TIIIME SKIP _**

"THIS. IS. PAAANCAAAKES!" My war cry echoes through the whole manor while I kick the door leading to the tea room where Ciel had stayed while I made some pancakes. Without any explosions, as I had confiscated all the dynamite and the flame thrower I had found under the sink, even though Baldroy gave me the puppy eyes to get them back. Both of my hands are busy holding large silver plates with an unreasonable quantity of pancakes on them, thus I have difficulty keeping my balance when I kick the door. Carefully, I walk into the small room, drowned by the white light coming from the only window opposite the couch and armchairs we were sitting in earlier. Setting the food platters on the table I had moved earlier, I turn to check up on Ciel. He hasn't made a noise since I came in.

Leaning forward, his eyes analyze the chess game in front of him. From the little knowledge I have in this area, I determine his king is checkmate, as there is a white queen in a square away from it. He must be thinking really deeply about it, as he doesn't even acknowledge my presence. The sound of me clearing my throat throws him out of his gaze, and he glares at me, with the 'what do you want' look on his face.

"Care for a pancake?" I cheerfully offer, presenting him a plate with a pile of pancakes threatening to fall any second. Seeing the suspicion in his eye, I feel forced to add, smiling: "Don't worry. I made them. Baldroy didn't even get close to them."

Taking a piece with a fork, he brings the piece to his mouth. But then he stops, and his look switches from the pancake halfway in his mouth to me. "You didn't poison them, did you?" He wonders, his face displaying the most serious facial expression I have ever seen.

Sitting down opposite him, I roll my eyes upwards, and reply very sarcastically :"Yes. Of course. I want you to die in horrible circumstances while I watch you and laugh like Mandark." My answer makes him smile a little, and he delicately puts the pancake in his mouth. What a gentleman. If it had been me and my friends, we would have tried to throw the pieces in each other's mouth, leaving remains of food all around the kitchen. The thought of my friends tightens my throat. What if I never got to see them again? I shove the thought out of my mind, and observe Ciel instead. His black hair shines with blue reflects in the daylight, and his only blue eye sparkles with amusement when he catches a glimpse of the mountain of pancakes on the small table. He notices my stare, and smirks, causing my cheeks to flush red.

"Who's Mandark?" He asks, his eyes focused on the pancake he was cutting. Merde*, I just made a reference he couldn't understand. That's going to be hard to explain. Oh well. Might as well unpack the whole truth right now. Chris never said anything about revealing his plan, and never revealed anything big either.

"Oh… It's… Complicated…" I quickly reply, looking out the window, trying to think of a way to explain this situation without him thinking that I'm mentally ill or just kidding. But then an image appears inside my eyes, behind my eyelids, replacing the sweet orange light. Burnt letters, and on the ground, in a pool of blood, my grandma lies, a knife plunged inside her stomach. No. NO. He can't do that to her. Not her. I blink once. Twice. The image doesn't go away. However the letters start to have a contour, making them readable. "Garde le pour toi. Ou les autres en subiront les consequences*".

Tears well up in my eyes, even though I try to make them go away by pinching myself. I am trapped. If I don't cooperate, which I was more or less planning on doing, he will kill my family. And even though I keep telling myself he can't, I know deep inside of me he is able to do it anytime. Their survival depends on me, and solely me. I can't fuck up now. Sighing in despair, I push these thoughts aside, and open my eyes, only to find Ciel standing in front of me. He's looking at me as if I was a lost puppy, the tears streaming down my face not helping one bit.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He asks while getting a handkerchief and handing it over to me. I refuse it. I don't want to involve him either. When I least expect it, I feel something warm against my cheek. It's a hand, whose thumb is rubbing the tears off. Ciel's. My gaze switch from his hand to his eye, and, speechless, I cannot look away for a few seconds…

"A pretty lady like you shouldn't be crying…" he whispers, and even though he is far away, I hear every single word clearly. Then I realize what he is doing. Gently, I remove his hand, and, repressing a sob, reply, tears filling my eyes:" I am not a lady."

Quickly, I get up, and before he can catch up with me, I run away into the manor's hall, not noticing the door Finny had destroyed earlier was in its bounds without a single scratch. When I do, it's when my face has made undesired contact with it. Letting out groans of pain, I decide to ignore the pain and attempt to push open the huge doors. Locked. It can't be! It was broken a few hours ago! What happened?! I pound on the door with my fists, desesperatly trying to get it open. To get away from this place. From Chris. From the huge responsibility which has been set on my shoulders.

Something cold lands on my left shoulder, stopping my motion. I freeze. It feels exactly like Chris. I shiver, not daring to turn back to face the supernatural being. Only creepy beings with death intentions make me feel this way.

Words are uttered in the coldest voice I have ever heard, quite similar to my tormentor's:

"Why don't you stay a little longer Miss Desmoulins?"

_***Putain –Fuck, but she uses it allot these days**_

_***merde –Shit**_

_***Oh mon dieu-Oh my god**_

_***Bandes de Laches-You cowards**_

_***Garde le pour toi, ou les autres en subiront les consequences = Keep it to yourself, or the others will suffer as a consequence –Agreed, it sounds better in French xP**_

_**Okay, I am sorry if the end of this chapter seems a bit rushed, but I didn't know how else I could introduce Sebastian in this story. There's also going to be quite a bit of time between this chapter and the next one, so I made this one longer just for you guys :D That's right, feel special :) **_


	6. Oh come on, really? Just read it

_**Hellow :D**_

_**Here's a new chapter for you :D We are starting to get more and more into the actual plot, I'm proud you followed me until here! By the way, if Isa seems a bit too sad in this chapter, don't worry about it. It won't be as sad as this in the future :) Enjoy the reading !**_

_**Warning :**_

_**I do not own Black Butler, nor any of its characters. I am only responsible for Isa's randomness**_

_**To all of you out there who thought Isa could get away with making a mess all of the time, you will be satisfied with the ending :) **_

_**Ciel's POV**_

"DUCK!"

The vase shattered against the wall, right where my head was a second ago. Walking was made difficult with the shards spread all over the expensive Indian rug, already stained with blood in places. Peeking from behind the lacerated emerald couch, I catch a glimpse of the furious blonde maid, flipping a table over, the fragments of the tea cups joining the remains of what used to be my tea room.

Good god, I did not expect that reaction! We just told her the year we were in, and since she didn't seem to understand, Sebastian had a silent talk with her. All I am going to say is that it didn't stay quiet for long. After a few minutes, she froze, and started to scream insanities in French, all aimed at someone called Chris. Who is he?

A shriek throws me out of my train of thought.

The terrified voice of the cook pierces my eardrums, and by glancing at him, I understand why. His legs are crushed under the lower part of the bookshelf. If you can even call it bookshelf any more, there's not much making it resemble a bookshelf anymore.

"BLOODY HELL! SHE GOT ME!"

My heart stops when she hastily grabs the precious jewelry box, miraculously intact despite the anger of the French lady. All that is left of my parents is in that box. Their wedding rings.

"Mum…Dad..." The whisper escapes my lips, even though I tried my best to retain it. Thankfully, she doesn't acknowledge it, but Sebastian is already confidently getting up on the other side of the room. I bet he sensed my distress, and like the perfect butler he is, he will take the box out of this maniac's hands. However, he doesn't need to.

Her hazel gaze loses all of its harshness, a gentler expression replacing the earlier wrath. A sad smile draws itself on her lips, red with all of the screaming. A thin ray of light passing through the fractured window illuminates her blonde hair, and for a second, she looks like an angel. An angel wearing men clothes, whose favorite hobby so far seems to damage other's property, and who just ruined my tea room. Well, isn't that bloody amazing?

Realizing I've been staring at her for a bit too long, I look away, trying to evaluate the damages she's caused. My desk is in bits, and scraps of paper are snowing all over the room, gently covering the floor with a white coat. The pawns of my game of chess are scattered, and I'm pretty sure some are outside, since that in her rage, Isa broke the window with the chess table. Bits of glass are hanging from the frame, and the chess table is stuck in a weird angle, threatening to fall at any given moment.

Let's not even mention my bookshelf. Until today, I didn't know it was possible for a plank to get planted in a wall, HORIZONTALLY. Good god. Even Elizabeth's pink makeovers are not that bad. Oh Elizabeth…

Pinching the edge of my nose, I scowl myself for behaving the way I did with Isa earlier. It is not appropriate for an engaged man to lay hands on any other woman, even if they happen to wake up in their bed naked, screaming like a madwoman. Nevertheless, that's exactly what happened, and now that woman is wearing my shirt. I did get myself into some strange business here.

I hear a slight clothes shuffling, and turn my head to find the origin of the sound. The French maid is now on her knees, clutching the box against her chest so hard her articulations are turning white. She is biting her lower lip, probably to stop it from shaking, and from her throat repressed sobs cause her bosom to move irregularly. Tears are starting to stripe her cheeks, tracing her jaw line to end up falling at the end of her chin. Mental slap again. I really have to stop staring at this woman.

For god's sake! I don't even know her, and besides, she is FRENCH. Those alcoholics revolutionaries muppets had tried to invade the rest of Europe half a century ago, and now Isabelle Desmoulins is invading my manor.

Bloody French gits.

_**Isa's POV**_

What do you want from me? I…I don't understand anymore…I never understood…Why am I trapped here? Back in that dream, I didn't believe you…After all, it was just a dream right? I'm going to wake up, and find my mother downstairs, baking pancakes, while my small brother slams his knife and forks against the table singing for food… She is going to sarcastically comment on my oversleeping, and I… I… I'll steal some of the dough, while my brother grimaces at me…

Non*…I can't believe this is happening…I will never see them again… Maman*…Papa*…Frerot*…Why me?

Sobbing, I press the box against my chest, right next to my heart. So, this is what happens when your whole family is gone. You cling to the small things that remind you of them. So that a piece of them is always with you… Is this what is left of Ciel's parents? I..I don't even have anything from mine…

Then a warm embrace swallows me whole, comforting and protective. My sobs turn into silent tears, and I let go of Ciel's dear box. It lands on my laps. Both of my hands instinctively grab the person's shirt, and, burying my face into his neck, I cry. During what seems ages, my tears wet the other person's skin, replacing an outdoor smell by a sour salty sting. His hands rub my back; nevertheless a hollow feeling remains inside, like a hole in the fabric of my soul.

A sweet humming coming from the person surprises me, and my eyes dry themselves.

"_Hush, little baby, don't say a word_

_I'm going to buy you a mockingbird"_

That voice. Finny. It would explain the smell, and why he hugged me in the first place. He seemed gentle this time though, as I am pretty sure all my bones are in one piece. A sad smile plays on my lips, and I close my eyes, soothed by the lullaby. My hands loosen their grip, and soon my arms are wrapped around him. Hanging onto what seems real.

The funny thing is, the only song I know involving a mockingbird is by Eminem, and until right now, I never knew it was a nursery rhyme. It would explain the whole song though, I think to myself, having an epiphany.

When the last note dies in his throat, I shift my face so that my head would rest on his chest. I hear nothing but Finnian's reassuring heartbeat. Slow and steady. He feels exactly like my big brother….

"Thank you." Is all I can manage to say after a long and comfortable silence. "Thank you so much…"

"It's nothing Isa." I can hear him grinning while he speaks, and slowly I let go and face him. Looking into his blue eyes, I see nothing but compassion. And I can't help but smile.

"Sorry for trying to kill you, grand frère*" I playfully nickname him, waiting for a reaction. All I get is a confused look. Oh yeah, right. I just went French mode. Never go French mode.

"Big brother" I explain, and soon the confusion is replaced with happiness.

"It's okay little sister, we all have our ups and downs" he claims "Just give me a heads up next time, all right?" His eyes are looking for a reaction, but get none. "Get it? Heads up? You were throwing stuff at us, and so…"

"Dude, I get it, it's just not funny." I blankly state, while getting up, dusting my legs.

"Awww…" He replies, disappointed, while helping me up, and adopting a depressed posture.

"Just kidding, I would have laughed if…This whole situation…"I start, unable to finish the sentence because of the knot present in my throat. My eyes get watery, but this isn't any time to cry, so I bite my inner cheek. Rushing towards the door, a large palm grabs my shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, we'll find a way." Finnian says, his voice full of hope. I give him a thankful look, and point the door with my thumb.

"Shall we go?" I wonder, not actually caring about the answer, as I am determined to go anyways. Then I remember. Ciel's box. It is still resting, unharmed, in the middle of the room, majestic, king among the bits of unrecognizable furniture destroyed by my hands. Pretty proud of that work of mine. Maybe that is my hidden talent. Breaking stuff. Hourrah, I can become the Hulk! That sounds awesome. Maybe apart from the part where all his clothes are torn apart and he ends up going around town half naked. I don't like being half naked, it makes me feel vulnerable.

While my mind wanders off about the possibilities of super strength accompanied by getting much bigger and bright green skin, I distractively pick up the box and skip back to the door, where Finnian is holding the door for me. By a sign of the head, I ask him to come with me, and he happily follows, throwing his arm around my shoulders, while I laugh at the gesture.

Off to find the others, yay!

* * *

After an hour of getting lost in the manor, finny being clueless about where to go, we finally find them retreated into an untouched part of the manor, a.k.a. the dining room. Baldroy's first reaction is to hide behind Sebastian, while May Linn frowns her nose and clenches her first. Ciel jolts up in surprise when Finnian kicks the door down.

"Because door handles are for losers" I comment, chuckling, before looking in front of me. The serious of the atmosphere tenses me up, and my gaze finds Ciel immediately. He's thrown off again. Seriously, he has Finny around all year long, isn't he used to people bursting into rooms?

A long awkward silence follows, during which the red haired woman glares at me with a death wish barely hidden. Who does she think she is? I stare back at her with the dirtiest look I can do. Ciel decides to interrupt the staring session by clearing his throat. Once I shift my gaze back to him, he starts speaking.

"After a long and difficult discussion about your presence at the manor and the…hazards associated with it, I have decided that you should nevertheless stay here, for the time being. When we discover a way of sending you back to your era, you will go, without any question. "The young boy declares, sitting down, while looking at me cautiously, as if I was a ticking bomb. Okay, just because I reacted a bit moodily when Sebastian told me we were in the 19th century and there was no way for me to go back to the 21rst-and by moodily I mean breaking down a lot of furniture and screaming in French for 30 minutes- doesn't mean I am going to go on a killing spree!

Okay, maybe…

"However, there are conditions." Sighing, I ran my hand through my hair, wondering what the boy came up with. Strangely, the back of my head is wet. With my luck, it's probably blood. Hourrah.

"First of all, give us a heads up when you go into one of your… moods" Wait what? What is he thinking? That I can just control them like that? They're feelings, not actions or facts! They don't just politely wait in a corner to let you finish what you started, they go full tidal wave mode on you!

"Second of all, sleep in your own bed. It may be a French thing to sleep in each other's bed, but we are in England here." If looks could kill, he'd already be chopped up in pieces and fed to dogs. Clenching my fists, I try to ignore the comment and not punch May Linn, who has that devilish smile on her face. She is probably the one who suggested it. Damn her. Sebastian, on the other hand, seems quite amused with my reaction, the corners of his mouth slightly turned up.

"Third: under any circumstances, do not approach a weapon or anything potentially lethal within 20 feet." While stating the last condition, he unconsciously reaches for the back of his head, where I hit him earlier. Guilt devours me from the inside. Putain de merde*.

"Oui, d'accord, that sounds reasonable!" I calmly reply, happy and optimistic, only on the surface though. Inside, I am an emotional wreck. Then doubt tickles the doubt of my mind. That can't be it. Sebastian's smirk indicates me there is something else.

"That wasn't the last one, was it?"

* * *

"Putain, how did I get that up there?" I wonder, admiring the fine piece of art I had created earlier on. Two meters above ground, a plank is stuck horizontally in the wall, with cracks surrounding the area the plank penetrated. From my 164 centimeters, I cannot reach it, even by jumping and standing on my tiptoes.

To redeem myself, the earl make me clean the rooms I destroyed. The room was the easy part, there were only clothes on the floor, with shards of broken vases here and there. But this room…. Man, I went hulk mode on it. There's nothing untouched, and wherever you step, you risk your

"SEEEEBAAAAASTIAAAAANNN" My scream resounds throughout the whole mansion, startling May Lynn, who had brought me extra brooms after I broke a few in frustration. She shot me a look, and handed me the brooms without a word, hurrying out of the room. A little bit of talking wouldn't hurt, would it? Snob.

Suddenly, a cold presence makes its appearance in the room, sending shivers down my spine. If I stay here for long, I'm going to have to get used to it. Every single particle in my body tells me otherwise, but I turn around to face the butler. His pink eyes are fixated on me, a hand on his chest.

"You have called me, milady? Do you need any help?" Even his voice reminds me of Chris. And all of the bad memories, threats that go along with him. I take a deep breath, telling myself he is not Chris. There is no reason to be terrified.

"Yes, I do indeed! Could you please help me get this off the wall?" I say, hoping my voice doesn't tremble as I speak. He fakes a smile, and comes closer. Each of his steps is like thunder in my ears, making my heartbeat speed up. He comes right under the plank, and, swiftly, he jumps and takes out the plank. Yeah, of course, when you're tall, it works better. Handing it over to me, he examines my reaction as he is really close to me now. I hope he doesn't notice I'm shaking. Quickly, I seize the wood and attempt to go away from him as fast as possible.

But he holds on to it, and pulls me closer, my face inches from his. The shaking turns to quaking, and I bite my lower lip, not wanting to show any sign of weakness. Staring into my eyes, his lips form words I dread, as they are spoken with the same tone of voice as my tormentor.

"What frightens you so much milady? Is it my presence?" Bon dieu, stop calling me lady already. I am French, for god's sake, we decapitated our aristocracy!

"N-No…Sebastian, are… " I stutter, unable to continue, as his presence is oppressing me, crushing my lungs. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to keep going, then looks down to my lips, which I am still biting. After a few seconds of silence, he replies with a suave voice.

"Yes?"

"Are you a demon? You feel exactly like Chris…" His gaze switches back to my eyes, and I feel like he is searching my soul, looking for answers. I feel like I have to look away, but my body won't budge. I am trapped. Just like in the alley. Let's hope that this time around, I don't get sent to random places, two hundred years ago and naked in someone else's bed.

"Who is Chris?"

"…Answer my question please…" I beg, pouting. The corners of his mouth lift up a bit, before going back to the usual poker face he gives me.

"Milady, let's just say I am one hell of a butler."

"...You really aren't going to answer it, are you?"

A smirk was my only answer. Sighing in disappointment, I gently push him away with the plank which he lets go of with amusement. His mission accomplished, he then proceeds to walk out of the room, with a mildly frustrated me behind. As I throw the plank out of the window, adding up to the huge pile of garbage right outside of the window, Sebastian warns:

"You should start to get ready; we are going to town this afternoon."

* * *

_***Maman= Mommy**_

_***Papa= Daddy**_

_***frerot= Brother -familiar way though-**_

_***hourrah =Hurray**_

_***Putain de merde= Fucking hell**_

_***Oui, d'accord =Yes, sure**_

_***Putain =Fuck**_

_***Bon dieu = Good god**_

_**Hey! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It took me 3 trials to write this right, without molesting Ciel or killing May Lynn half way through, so I guess you could say I'm pretty proud of it :D**_

_**If you liked this story, don't forget to leave me a favorite and to follow it, I try to publish as regularly as I can :) Oh, and a review would be very much appreciated too :D**_

_**Next chapter is going to take place in the city, and shopping for dresses :) Except Isa hates dresses, especially they crush your ribs :) Allot of bickering and arguing ahead ;)**_


	7. Getting dirty

Here is another chapter :) Just wondering, are you guys okay with Isa swearing that much? I know it may hurt some sensitive souls, so I am just wondering.  
Enjoy my lovelies, and don't forget to leave a review, favorite or follow this story ^^

By the way, we hit a thousand views last week! I cannot believe that many people have seen my story! I mean, a thousand people! It just blows my mind, I really don't know what to say. Thank you ^^

_**WAAARNING**_

I do not own Black butler, just playing around with its characters, however I am responsible for Isa's constant swearing and Chris' creepy face :P

Do not read if you can't stand embarrassing situations, punching people while being covered in mud, and an occasional gore :)

By the way, there is another character from the show making its entrance towards the end of this chapter, and we could say we are definitively getting into the core of the intrigue. I would say there is about 5 more chapters until we meet the Queen or Elizabeth, not sure which one should be met first though, but know for sure both are going to be massive shitstorms.

Enjoy :D

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A sly hole in the ground traps one of the wheels of the coach, and the sudden stop lunches me forward into Ciel, who was sitting right opposite me. My head collides with his chest, a light groan escaping my mouth, causing my vision to become a bit blurry. How I miss cars right now, at least you have no risk of flying into your neighbor. My cheeks flush with heat, and from what I can tell from Sebastian's amused expression, I must be as red as a tomato. Well, that's normal; I am still embarrassed from this morning's altercation, and was more or less planning on ignoring him until it all blows over. Besides, those butterflies in my stomach could mean nothing good in my situation. Anyhow, I guess that's not an option anymore. While mentally slapping myself, I hurry to get myself back onto my seat, avoiding eye contact with both Ciel and his butler, my face still feeling unbearably incandescent.

Back onto my spot, I look outside the veiled window, pushing the little curtain aside, letting some good old daylight inside. We are no longer in the middle of nowhere, we are in a typical nineteenth century town, and not only does it look like an English town, it also smells like one. My nose wrinkles when the unpleasant odor reaches my nostrils. Poverty is the nice term to describe it, and not long after, the sight accompanies the smell : haggard beggars, searching in the trash cans for food, their clothes being no more than a rag covering their skeletal bodies, are flooding the streets. My heart is broken when I realize there are young children among them, tiny pale beings lost in an adult world. One of them catches my attention. A crying baby in his arms, which are more bone than anything else, the infant looks at the vehicle, and for a second, at me peeking from the side. His disproportionate blue eyes, occupying the most of his small face, meet mine for a second. Desperation.. Pain.

All of these gut wrenching feelings overwhelm me. They should be helped, taken care of, live a normal childhood, play happily with their siblings, not having to worry about where to sleep or what to eat. Kids should be innocent…

A strong hand closes the curtain, cutting me from the outside. Sebastian. He also takes out a handkerchief out of his pocket, to gently wipe away the tears present on my cheeks. I didn't even realize I was crying. Setting myself back onto my seat, I catch a glimpse of worry in Ciel's eyes, before he turns his head away. Wait, that wasn't worry, was it? An awkward silence hovers in the car, and, pulling myself together, I clear my throat.

"Why did you bring me along?" It had been a three hours long ride, although it seemed like an eternity to me, as no one cared to speak. Curiosity was also gnawing at the back of my mind, wondering why they would bring me into town. After all, I am still wearing "men's clothing"-Baldroy's personal choice of words- and I won't last three minutes without someone recognizing my accent, thus starting what I like to call a "Britstorm", a.k.a a rant against French people 'colonizing' Britain with their fancy clothes and wine. Putain de stereotypes*.

"A murder has been committed in town." The news sinks like an ex Mafioso with a cement block tied to his ankle. Uncomfortably, I gulp, and look away for a second. My lucky star is not shining on me for sure, these days. Curiosity bites back, and soon, another question aches to be asked. I speak without thinking, typical me.

"You don't think I have anything to do with it, do you?" I had just arrived into town, it was impossible for me to be involved in any kind of criminal activity. YET. But from Ciel's suspicious look, I assume that is what they believe. Oh, for god's sake! I am so tired of them thinking I am some kind of murderous assassin!

"Well…." His gaze found mine, his only eye full of doubt. He must be reading confusion all over my face, as he hesitates to keep his sentence going. Waiting for him to speak up makes my blood boil inside, and it takes me every single bit of will I have to refrain from shaking him to get the answer.

"It's an euphemism to say that your arrival here was supernatural. You may have something to do with it… Especially since you have shown quite a hatred for the nobility…"I tilt my head to the side for a second, not quite understanding what he implied. Well it was true that I did not like nobles, but….Oh wait. OH WAIT. DID THAT FILS DE PUTE* SAID WHAT I JUST THINK HE SAID?

Clenching my fists, I give him the look of death-one I have perfected over many years, usually used against patronizing high school British comrades- and after a few seconds, spent wisely in order for me not to start swearing at him in French, I snap, in a cold voice: "Your butler feels supernatural too, I don't see you accusing him though!"

Oh shit. They both froze at the same moment, and are now staring at me with what I hope is disbelief, Ciel's mouth open in a shocked gasp. I'm pretty sure that if they had tea, they'd be spilling it all over the place. Did he not know his butler wasn't as normal as a good old regular one? However, Sebastian is the first one to regain his control, the usual smirking mask back onto his handsome face. He bends over to Ciel, and covering his mouth so I wouldn't hear what he was saying, he whispers a few hushed words to his master. The effect of the words is imminent, and Ciel's expression turns into a slightly amused one. "How did you guess, milady?"

"He… His aura…. I don't know how to explain it, but he feels just like a… friend of mine." My shoulder burns at the only mention of Chris. Unconsciously, my hands hover the mark he left, and I wince at the pain when my fingertips stroke it. I don't know how yet, but that asshole is going to pay for trying to control me. Embarrassed, I look away, not wanting to meet their questioning gazes.

Bon Dieu, merci, the coach stops at that moment, allowing me to avoid their interrogations. After addressing God a thankful prayer, I get off the vehicle, promising myself not to go on one of those evil engines ever again. Grabbing Sebastian's outstretched hand, more by necessity than choice, as he still scares the living shit out of me, my feet land in London's glorious 19th century road paving, covered in organic substances I will not even try to identify, for my guts sake.

I take a huge breath of fresh air, only to realize it is not so fresh, by half choking on it. Good god, has London always reeked? We must be in the poor part of the city, as the air has a lovely scent of putrefaction, rotting aliments and, most charming, excrements. Starting to breathe through my mouth to put up with the odor, I glance at Ciel, expecting him to be suffocating on the horrible smell, because noble lungs. But he seems to be holding on pretty fine, he almost looks used to it.

The one eyed Earl reaches for his pocket, and takes a worn paper out, which he examines for a few seconds, before turning to me. Smirking at my apparent disgust, he points a dark alley and announces :"That should be where our corpse is. As you already seem to be about to spill your lunch on the floor, are you sure you want to examine this murder?"

Even though every single fiber of my body screams no, my head wants to prove Ciel and his ridiculous theory wrong. "Yes." Is my only reply, and I hope silently that my voice didn't crack when I uttered this single word.

"Very well." He then grabs me by the arm, pulling me a bit closer so we are side by side. Looking straight in front of him, avoiding my suspicious glare, he starts to walk towards the street, his feet skillfully stepping in the relatively clean spots of the streets. His arm locked with mine feels strangely good, so I don't struggle against him. I bet he was expecting me to, according to the surprise present on his face for a second.

"As you may have noticed, we are now walking in the poor neighbourhood of London. Murders and other crimes are common money here, so it would be better if you stayed close to me." He explains, the smallest blush creeping on his cheeks at the end of his sentence. But if this place was as dangerous as he thought this was, then what on earth would a noble be doing here? However, he does not give me the chance to wonder, as he keeps on debriefing me. "Peckham is a no place for a lady."

I growl when he says lady. For god's sake, how many times do I have to tell him I am not a lady and that word is an insult in my country? Nevertheless, I don't interrupt him and let him explain himself.

"We are here to investigate, and then report to the Queen." He deadpans. Why the Queen though? Why would he have to report anything to the Queen? After all, she is the queen; brutally killed commoners aren't really her business. I bet she would care more about the way Lady Snob's dress showed way too much flesh, and by that I mean that it showed more than her ankle, at last year's New Eve ball. Ugh. Nobles.

"Isn't this what they have cops for?" I ask, trying to hide my frustration and despise from the mention of the Queen.

"Cops?" He shoots me a curious and confused look, and the blush is back on my cheeks.

"Merde, 21rst century term. Policemen?" I attempt, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"That seems more like the appropriate term. Anyhow, this is not an ordinary murder. The way it has been committed resembles the way French nobility was executed during the French Revolution." He says, checking for my reaction, as if I would blow up every single time he mentions the French.

"You mean he was beheaded? With a guillotine?" I wondered out loud, realizing one of the reasons of my presence here. As we enter the dark alley, I shudder. Dark alleys and me do not have a good history. Not at all. I can feel Ciel's gaze on me, but I can't look at him, as terror is paralyzing my body, and every muscle of my body feels stiff. Lead is flowing through my veins.

"I do not know yet, the letter only mentioned a decapitation." He stopped walking, and seems to be waiting for me to pull my shit together. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on my breathing instead. Breathe in. Feel the air flooding your lungs. Wait for your heartbeat to slow down. Breathe out. After repeating my anti panic attack plan several times, I open my eyes.

"Let's go." More trying to convince myself than to convince the others, I step forward. Every move is excruciating, and I have to push myself in order to keep moving. I squeeze Ciel's arm in order to cling onto reality, while marching forward to the body.

* * *

"Putain de bordel de merde.*" Blood drips from the deformed head , rippling the dark red pool at the bottom of the wall it was nailed on, creating a _**plic**_ sound that resounds in my ears for several seconds, putting me in a trance state. Throwing me out of my phasing state, a strong hand grabs my shoulder. My head almost whips around, and I see Sebastian, his usual poker face on, his pink eyes drilling into my soul. Even though I instantly look away, I can still feel his eyes observing me, and it sends a cold shiver down my spine. That man terrifies me.

"Excuse me, I've got to go empty my stomach." I say, pushing against the crowd which had gathered around the corpse, curious to see what was happening, hurrying out of the dark alley. Gasping for air, I finally make it out alive, not having gone unnoticed, as people were staring at me and exchanging comments about that random blonde French girl wearing guy clothes. But I couldn't care less, as my breakfast was pushing against my throat to make an apparition.

Heavens finally smiled at me, and I find a trash can around the corner of the alley. I proceed to throw up, and the rare times I lifted my head up ,between two chokes, some random beggars look at me with sympathy. One of them even pats my back, and holds my hair back while puking.

When my throat feels as if acid had been rubbed on repetitively , I stop, and wipe my mouth with my sleeve. Ciel isn't going to be too happy about his shirt being ruined, but he is a noble for god's sake. He shouldn't care; he's got enough money to buy another thousand of those. Honestly, this is the last of my worries right now, as there are three hungry looking men glaring at me from across the street. Oh bon dieu. Why do I always get myself into this kind of trouble?

Just when you think things cannot get worse, they do. On my way back to the crime scene, a dog crosses the street, followed by a herd of hungry children. I trip over the hound, not paying attention to it as the three homeless men were running after me, looking demented. A second later, my front was making contact with the glorious Victorian era English mud, with an unpleasant _**plotch**_ accompanying it. Super. I feel like I am about to kill someone, and give Ciel and actual reason to send me to jail. I just need one more little push, and I will go full French revolution mode on the nearest person.

A male voice rings in my ears, but I cannot make out the words pronounced. Before I could react, I was pulled out of the mud by a rather strong arm before being taken bridal style. Oh god. Whoever this person is, he feels cold, just like Chris and Sebastian. Anger pumps adrenaline into my veins, and I struggle against the person holding me, scratching and punching every square centimeter in my reach, growling when he lets me down.

"Well, Claude, look at what we found here, a wild beautiful creature!" I glance into the direction the voice, only to find a rather tall and handsome man looking down on me. His icy blue eyes are looking me up and down, making me feel rather uncomfortable. And then I realize why he has looked at me that way : the shirt is sticking onto my skin because of the mud! Every single inch of my upper body can be seen through the top! Self-consciously, I cross my arms across my chest, blushing and looking away. The gesture amuses the stranger, as he chuckles.

"You don't need to hide that, love!" He says rather loudly and playfully, attracting several men's attention in the street, who are now staring at me.

"Don't call me love." I reply as coldly as I could, looking away as heat rises up to my cheeks. A crowd was starting to form around us, and my heart started pounding in my chest as I felt my agoraphobia kicking in. Too many people, at the same time, in the same place. My skin starts to feel uncomfortable, and my instincts are screaming at me to get the hell out of there, as fast as I could. But I stand my ground, my anger overpowering my fears. Looking straight into his icy blue eyes, I stare at him, who still seems mildly entertained.

"Oh, the maid is French! Lovely! Claude, can we keep her?" he enthusiastically enquired the black haired man standing next to him, who had probably pulled me out of the mud earlier, as his sleeve has a few brown stains near the elbow fold. He only mutely stares at him, probably taken back by his master. I think I see a pattern in the way the butlers act: they just stand in the shadow of their master, only moving when it's a necessity or an order.

But seeing the lack of answer of his butler as an approval, he steps right in front of me, examining me, towering me. My shortness frustrating me, I try standing on my tiptoes to face him like a woman. But even on my tiptoes I'm nowhere as tall as he is. "We are going to have to wash her first though; I don't want her cute face to be covered in mud when we go back to the manor."

My right eye twitches, my hands tighten into small fists. I look up at him, watching the smirk on his face getting bigger as the scowl on my face becomes more pronounced. I give him the _**try me **_look, all the muscles in my body tensed, ready to punch him as soon as he tries something. It's not in my habit to remain quiet, but both the crowd and the man in front of me intimidate me.

One of his arms snakes its way around my waist, pulling me closer, and he messes with my hair with the other one. Some of the men around us imitate hungry wolves, while others just whistles at the sight of his body clinging onto mine.

Needless to say that I punched him in the jaw right afterwards. Putain d'anglais a la con.*

* * *

*Putains de stereotypes =Fucking stereotypes

*Fils de pute= Son of a bitch

*Bon dieu, merci =Good god, thanks

*Merde = Shit

*Putain de bordel de merde = Fuck, shit and goddamn in the same swear expression (A personal favorite ;)

*putain d'anglais a la con =Fucking stupid englishmen

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Hey! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it didn't go in the direction I planned it to go to, but do not worry my dear readers, we are going somewhere!

Now we have really started the intrigue, with the first murder. It is the first one in a series of many, and hopefully Isa would get used to dead bodies by the end of this fanfic :P

Anyways, if you have any suggestions, remarks, anything really that could help me improve my writing style/plot, post a review :D I really appreciate them ^^ Tell me whether I should keep this story going or not :)

Don't forget to follow and favorite on your way out :) it's always nice, and who knows, I might end up reading your stories as well :D

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Up next - You can't go round town with pants!

"You are not making me wear that. Over my dead body you will not Ciel phantomhive." Yes, shit just got serious, I full named him.


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